Signs, Signs, Everywhere a Sign
by everybetty
Summary: Written for the shepsatlantis LJ ficathon.  S2ish. Contains the daily recommended dose of ShepWhump. It was just a trading mission...NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

"Careful, Rodney! Fruit at 2 o'clock!" And for the sixth time since they'd arrived on the planet, John snickered and traded shit eating grins with Ronon.

"Your arsenal of jokes seems on the low side, Colonel. Perhaps you could invest in a water-squirting flower for your tac vest. Or, I bet you could get miles of fun out of a hunk of plastic doggie doo."

John snorted at the sight of Rodney, pulled up to full height, in high dudgeon, uttering the words, "doggie doo."

Then Ronon raised an eyebrow, Teyla looked puzzled and John found himself in the uncomfortable position of possibly having to explain to the two decidedly NON-Earthers where the humor could be found in fake dog shit.

John quickly composed himself while trying to fight the smile that formed at the thought of leaving a plastic turd somewhere strategic back at the city. Maybe in Elizabeth's In box… Carson's nice sterile infirmary… nope. Kavanagh's desk drawer. The one where he hid his fibre bars and muesli.

Rodney snapped his fingers, bringing John out of his reverie. "You're thinking about the plastic poop, aren't you?" He sighed dramatically, then paused. "Where would you put it?"

"Kavanagh's drawer."

Rodney smiled beatifically. "Brilliant! That man's constipation, both physical and social, is legendary. Good one, Colonel. Quite… poetic, actually."

"Thank you, Rodney," John replied smugly. He then turned about to resume their forward hike through the forest and was immediately thwacked in the face by a bulbous piece of bright red fruit hanging from a nearby tree.

"Damn it!" He raised a hand to push it away, barely avoiding the return swing of the branch.

"I'm sorry. What was I just saying was poetic? Might I amend my statement?"

"Shut up, Rodney," John growled. He looked at Teyla and she averted her eyes quickly. "It left a stain, didn't it?"

"It is not too bad, Colonel. Barely noticeable."

Rodney snorted. "Looks like you got kissed by a bigmouthed bass wearing lipstick."

"And you know this from experience, McKay?" John countered, rounding on the smug physicist.

"Please," Rodney replied coolly. "Carson is the fishophile. I merely crafted an appropriate simile."

John scrubbed his hand on the spot where the fruit had hit, peering forlornly at his clean fingers.

"It dries remarkably fast," Rodney commented. "Best get used to having it there for a week or so."

"I did warn you, Colonel," Teyla said with a cocked eyebrow. "The _qirmizi_ fruit is highly prized on many planets for its color… and its permanence. It can be used for dyes, glazes, artists' paints. Women use it --"

"-- Yes, Teyla. Thanks for the info," John hurriedly cut in. "These people had better have something better to trade than squishy red fruit. I'm talking chocolate, coffee and bubble gum good."

Rodney's eyebrows rose so far they almost disappeared into his hairline. "How about ZedPM good? That would be very good, yes?" He was already shaking his head in exasperation, then paused. "The coffee and chocolate would be a nice bonus, though."

"See? That's what I'm talking about. Maybe they'll have chocolate-covered ZPMs, McKay."

"Now that's just silly," Rodney muttered but appeared cheered by the thought.

"Road."

John glanced over to see Ronon, all but forgotten, had stopped at the edge of what appeared to be an honest to goodness road. Not exactly the blacktopped, painted line Earth type road, but of higher quality than the typical dusty paths they normally encountered.

"Good eye, Big Guy," John said with a grin. "It IS a road."

Ronon just glared and headed off in the direction of the small city visible in the distance.

"No sense of humor that one," John quipped, hooking his thumb at the runner's back.

Teyla just elbowed past him with a put upon look and followed Ronon.

"What?"

"Apparently sarcasm pisses off Satedans," Rodney observed with a shrug, then hustled to catch up to the other two.

* * *

"Wow!"

"I had heard of the city's wealth but I had never truly believed it," Teyla breathed, staring as the rest did at the splendor before them.

Buildings like crystalline spires, reminiscent of their own Lantean home, rose up against a lavender sky. From windows and balconies brightly colored pennants flapped in the strong breeze above a thronging marketplace.

As the team entered the city under a broad asymmetrical archway they caught the scents of cooking meat and spices; flowers and perfumes added to the heady brew.

The first kiosk after the entrance was a cart laden down with flowers of every shade of the spectrum. They were braided into long chains, cut into small bundles, and were growing out of earthenware pots.

Standing behind the cart was a mahogany skinned man in a long purple silk tunic. A loosely fitting, bright red vest and red and purple paisley print pants completed the garish ensemble. His dark brown hair had been caught up into a long ponytail that cascaded down his back. He grinned widely at them as they approached, several gold teeth glinting in the sunlight.

"Welcome to _Svarga_. _A'namaste_!"

John answered the man's smile with his own and a little head nod. "Thanks! Nice to be here. In beautiful _Svarga_," he added.

The man's grin broadened beyond what should have been all physical capability. "It IS a beautiful city. Are you here to trade? My blossoms are the biggest and freshest in the city."

"Oh, I don't doubt that," John said amiably. He tossed a look at his team, biting his lip to keep from chuckling. Ronon had already decided to ignore the flower vendor and had his hand on his blaster at his hip, taking reconnaissance of the marketplace with a suspicious glare. Rodney was staring at the cart like it held explosives and he was holding a lit match. And Teyla…Teyla was seemingly enthralled by the cart's contents.

John bent over slightly and murmured in the Athosian's ear. "You see something you like, Teyla?"

She stammered and her cheeks pinked. "I… I was simply admiring his wares. It is only polite."

"Course it is. You, um, admiring a particular sample of his _wares_?"

Her fingers reached out and touched a braided chain of large, densely petaled orange blossoms, like giant, souped up cousins of Earth marigolds. "Their scent is… we have something on Athos very similar to this."

"Ahh, the lady has good taste," the vendor said as he picked up the chain. "_Genda_ flowers. They are beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady. For you, only _satreh rupaya." _And he leaned over the cart to place the wreath over Teyla's head.

Teyla quickly backed up and smiled at him. "Thank you. But we are travelers only." She gave the flowers a wistful look. "We wish to speak with your leaders. To discuss trade," she added hastily as the man's grin faded and his eyes flicked nervously.

"Trade?" he replied, the smile returning. "If you are to be new trade partners with _Svarga_, you must accept a gift. A… gesture… to express to you our happiness that you are here. Please." And he held the flowers out once more.

Teyla shook her head. "No, I couldn't."

John stepped up next to her. Reached behind into his pack and pulled out several foil-wrapped chocolate bars. "Teyla, would you feel better if we traded for them?"

She hesitated only the briefest of moments, then hurriedly bowed her head to allow the vendor to place the necklace of flowers. "As an opening trade gesture, I think it appropriate," she said with a smile, then buried her nose in the nearest blossom.

"Thank you," she told the vendor with a happy sigh. "And thank _you_, Colonel," she added.

Rodney snorted and backed away from her as she turned. John just bounced on the balls of his feet and nodded at the vendor with a wink. He mouthed, 'thank you,' to the vendor as he handed over the chocolate bars.

The Svargan held out an arm pointed further into the city. "You will find our city center is where the _Mahodayahan _meet. Our leaders here in the city. They will be happy to meet new trading partners."

John gave him another nod, caught Ronon's eye to let the runner know they were moving and headed off in the direction given.

Their way through the crowded market was slow going. They passed carts laden down with huge bolts of brightly dyed fabric and others bearing massive chunks of meat on rotisseries that churned out gouts of spicy, greasy smoke. One vendor sold musical instruments; stringed ones that looked like lutes or sitars, flutes, pipes and woodwinds. Drums made of hollowed out gourds with animal skins stretched over them. A boy of five or six had a child-sized xylophone-looking thing that sat on his lap and he beat upon the smooth stones with a small mallet.

Another cart held jewelry. Long strings of rainbow-hued beads shared space with delicate metallic chains, bracelets and bangles, and rings. The metal was primarily a dark silvery-tone but some was of a pinkish tone, like the rose gold of Earth.

The woman at the jewelry cart was wearing a dress made of sky blue shimmery fabric, wrapped in a complicated fashion around her and up over one bare brown shoulder. There were bright glints at her ears and nose and her arms held dozens of the silvery bangles and Rodney had to be pulled away as he began to wander over to her.

Throngs of people collected around a kiosk where a man in cobalt blue silk and a black fur vest displayed pelts of exotic animal skins. Some were the expected brown, a few zebra-like with sharply contrasting black and white stripes. Others were a clear indication that they were in the Pegasus Galaxy. One woman was trying on a wrap made of feathers unlike any seen on Earth- gaudy enough to put the peacock to shame. The man with her was angrily arguing with the vendor but still dug into the pouch at his waist, pulling out a handful of large coins.

Rodney was again temporarily swayed, this time by a cart bearing all manner of pastries. The portly salesman in snow white silks had an orange apron tied around his neck and was busily doling out cookies and tarts to the people lined up. John hooked a hand around Rodney's arm and pulled him out of queue.

Even Ronon found something to interest him. As they neared the fringe of the market the carts thinned and buildings rose from the margins of the wide cobblestone street. At one of the last of the kiosks, a vendor was selling knives. Some had been forged from a dark chalky metal. Some had been carved from what looked like animal bone and others from a green hued mineral. One looked as if it had been cut from a chunk of obsidian and Ronon actually lifted it from its padded case. He hefted it and raised his eyebrows. "It's light."

"Yes, _shri_, yes it is." The vendor, a snowy haired man of apparently advanced years, leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "It is meant for concealment. The knife does not carry much weight, therefore it does not divulge its presence under a _dhoti." _

Ronon nodded noncommittally. He ran his thumb on the edge and hissed, pulling this now lightly bleeding thumb to his lips.

"Oh, _shri, _it is very sharp. Please be careful."

Ronon just growled and tossed the knife into the air, catching it skillfully and effortlessly by the hilt. "Balance is good," he noted.

"You are obviously a man who knows his knives, _shri. _You like it? For you, only _nabbe rupaya."_

"You're lookin' at that knife like Teyla was lookin' at the flowers, Big Guy. Pretty weapon caught your fancy?" John asked with a smirk.

The runner grunted but didn't put the knife down. "Would probably shatter first time I used it," he muttered but the vendor heard him.

"Oh, NO, _shri. _It is made of _cam'kala. _Hardest substance on _Svarga." _

Ronon drilled a glare through the vendor's forehead then raised the knife and brought it down on the edge of the wooden cart.

John held his breath, waiting for the knife to explode into a million shards and the inevitable angry mob fallout. But the blade sliced a thin, deep cut into the soft wood and remained in Ronon's hand, completely intact. Not even a chip had been knocked from the edge.

Ronon smiled and nodded, dreads bouncing on his shoulders. "This will do. This will definitely do." He dug into his pack and pulled out a small animal skin pouch. After tugging it open he removed a chunk of metal, so shiny it was almost white, the size of a thimble and handed it to the vendor. "That do?"

The salesman stared at the ingot in his hand with saucered eyes for a moment then echoed Ronon's smile. "Yes, _shri_. Yes, it will do." He quickly put the piece of metal in his own hip pouch and reached below the cart, pulling out a small burlap sack.

"A bag for the kni--"

John looked over and the knife was already gone.

"Got it. Thanks," Ronon grunted, then turned to continue walking towards the city.

Rodney got a small surprised look on his face then turned to smile at John. "Huh. Apparently, Satedans have expensive taste and the ability to pay for it."

* * *

The city center was a wide plaza, flanked on three sides by the tall-spired buildings. Though it was almost midday on the planet, the sun's rays were blocked by the towering structures and cast the plaza into cool shadows. A massive fountain on a raised dais took up one end, designed with a golden statue of a many-armed man, each hand holding a goblet that gushed forth clear, sparkling water.

Before it sat a long, low table with a group of men and women seated at it. There was a long scroll unfurled on the tabletop and the seated figures argued over its contents.

At the team's appearance a woman rose and approached them. Her dark hair was now mostly iron grey and ran in a tight braid down her back. The emerald green garment she wore was similar to those seen in the market but crossed over her chest to cover her bosom and both shoulders. She bowed her head and raised her hands at her sides.

"_A'namaste."_

John returned the foreign greeting as best as possible and dipped his head. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. These are Ronon Dex, Teyla Emmagan, and Rodney McKay," he introduced in turn. "Nice city ya got here."

The woman tipped her head in gracious acknowledgment. "Thank you. The gods have been gracious with their blessings on _Svarga_. I am Niogi Lakshana. Welcome to our fair city, travelers. How may I be of assistance?"

The rest of the council had stopped their arguing to scope out the team with nakedly appraising eyes. One younger woman had already cast hooded eyes at Ronon but quickly dipped her head abashedly when he grinned at her.

"No assistance. We're just tourists," John said with a smile. "Visitors," he amended at her puzzled look. "And possibly traders?"

She nodded again. "We trade with many worlds through the _gota_." She mimed a large circle with her hands in the air. "The Eye of the Gods."

John chuckled. "We call it a stargate. But yes, we came through the _gota_. We, um, don't have much with us but back home, we may have stuff to barter with."

"You wish the _qirmizi_? Our orchards have been blessed with a bountiful crop this season."

John unconsciously raised a hand to rub at the spot on his cheek. "No, I think we'll pass on them. I understand the flesh isn't very good to eat and we could really use some edible stuff."

"Of course. We have many fruits and vegetables. You may be interested in our _kahava_ bean. It makes a very excellent beverage, very popular. It sharpens the mind and energizes the body."

"That… that sounds suspiciously and wonderfully like coffee," Rodney broke in, stepping forward eagerly.

"Take it easy, McKay. You'll scare the nice lady," John warned.

"I'm just saying. I mean, if you won't let me ask for ZedPMs, the least we could get out of this trip is some coffee. You wouldn't let me get that pastry with the red berries and cream."

"Yes, Rodney. We'll see if we can feed the monkey on your back. _Kahava_ sounds like something we'd be interested in, ma'am," he said, returning to the councilwoman.

"Very good. I will introduce you to the family that owns the largest orchard. They own a great deal of land in the mountains, the best area to grow the _kahava." _

"See? It's gotta be coffee. Coffee grows in the mountains back home. At least the good stuff. I had this Costa Rican blend I used to have shipped to the lab at university. Bricks of the stuff, and it cost a pretty penny but it was worth it, let me tell you. It was--"

"McKay! Enough. Yes, ma'am. That would be great. Thank you."

* * *

Introductions were made with the son of the cousin of the brother of the plantation owner. The young man had eagerly waved them on to a large animal drawn wagon, the likes of which John hadn't seen since a high school hayride. Jenny Stakowski had been a lovely, soft armful in a fuzzy pink sweater and she'd let him get to second base. The memory of her bra-covered breast in his hand gave him a smile that was quickly wiped away by the recollection that he'd gotten a nasty set of chigger bites from the hay.

The beasts of burden, the driver called them _ghota, _were horse-like, to be kind but horribly ugly and mean to boot, spitting at anyone who go too close as John found out when he tried to pet its neck.

Their way through up into the mountains had taken them up a stone road. As their second hour in the cramped wagon bed passed the forest around them thickened and turned more jungle-like. Branches of the broadleaved trees formed a dark, dense green archway overhead and small, grey-furred animals scattered at their approach, causing leaves and twigs to rain down constantly.

A viscous tan glop landed on the wagon next to Rodney and he yelped and practically scrambled into Ronon's lap.

"That…that… _thing_ tried to SHIT on me!" He fumbled for the 9mm at his hip and almost had the safety off before he could be stopped.

"McKay! Put the gun down!" John shouted, placing his hand over the top of the automatic. "It's just a little… monkey squirrel shit. Relax."

"Monkey squirrel? Is that even a possible taxonomic nomenclature?"

"They have squirrel monkeys back home. Pegasus can have monkey squirrels, Rodney," John said with a final, smug nod.

The wagon lurched and the four of them flung out their arms to secure themselves. John peeked over the top of the backboard and tapped the driver on the shoulder. "We almost there, guy?"

"Oh, yes, _shri_. I must apologize for the bumpiness. This road is not often traveled by anyone but my brother and me. We take loads of _kahava_ to market at harvest time. But up front here, or on the backs of _ghoda,_ we do not suffer the way you are. But we shall be there very soon. It is just up around that hill."

"Hear that, guys? Maybe we can walk back down," he added, rubbing at his hip where it had banged against the wooden frame.

The wagon master did not lie. They rounded the crest of a hill and got their first look at the _kahava _plantation in all its glory.

Thick green lawn rose up a smooth incline where the house sat. Goatlike ruminant grazers roamed about, munching contentedly on the grass. A group of children played on the hill; a pigtailed girl of nine or ten chased after a group of like-aged kids who laughed as they squirmed out of reach. A group of older children in their teens, up closer to the house, sat on low cushions, reading and drawing .

The house itself was a many-spired behemoth. It rose several stories and spread out over an area the size of half a city block. Brightly colored pennants like those seen in the city flapped noisily in the breeze.

As the _ghodas'_ hooves clopped on the stone road the sound echoed off the monstrous structure. One of the children, a boy barely older than a toddler, broke free from the group, screaming, "_Pita! Pita!" _at the top of his lungs. The wagon master brought the team of beasts to an abrupt halt and got down to scoop the giggling boy into his arms. He whirled about with the boy in his arms and grinned at the team as they unloaded off the back of the wagon. "This is my son. Amol, go tell the Premika that we have traders here." And with that he set the boy down and shooed him off with a smack on the butt.

The boy scooted off as quickly as his short little legs would carry him up the hill and into the entrance of the home.

"I don't suppose this place would have a chiropractor on site," Rodney grumbled as he rubbed at the small of his back.

A few minutes later a woman emerged and stood at the entrance, making no effort to greet or meet them halfway.

"I'd guess that's the lady of the house, guys," John said. "And I'm thinking she doesn't like to be kept waiting."

The team climbed the green grass-covered hill and as they neared John heard Rodney whistle under his breath.

The woman was beautiful. Coldly regal in her bearing, she stood ramrod straight, not even acknowledging the still approaching team.

Her rich, dark hair was caught up in an intricate weave, from the top of which emerged a cascade of molten chocolate waves that fell to halfway down her back. Jewels flashed at her throat, her ears, her nose. Silver sparkled along her hairline and dozens of silver bangles covered her slim brown arms from elbow to wrist. Her gown was of magenta and the orange of the blossoms Teyla wore and exposed an expanse of cleavage John thought he could happily fall into.

When they'd finally drawn near enough she nodded shortly. But not in a respectful, subordinate manner. It was more like, _yes, you are being graced with my temporary attentions._

John started with his typical friendly smile and made the effort to bow his head at the woman. "Ma'am."

As he lifted his face he saw that she was staring at him. Her eyes widened and remained pinned squarely on him.

"Ma'am?" he tried again, beginning to squirm a bit under her piercing stare.

"Your face," the woman said.

"My…" John sighed and sagged a little. His fingers rose to scrub at the top of his jaw near his ear where the fruit had stained him. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Run in with one of your _qirmizi_ fruits."

Her hand suddenly shot out and stopped him, pulled his fingers away. She replaced them with her own, tracing the outline of the mark with warm, smooth fingertips.

John distinctly heard Rodney mutter, "Oh, brother," and he pulled away from her touch.

"You bear the mark of _Yama-Ushas_. She has kissed your flesh and left it behind as a sign."

"No, nope, sorry, ma'am. Just a fruit stain," John said with a chuckle.

The woman finally broke her gaze free but remained distracted. "I am Premika here. What brings you to my home?"

He quickly made introductions of the team. "This is Teyla Emmagan of Athos, Ronon Dex of Sateda, Dr. Rodney McKay and I'm Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. We heard you traded _kahava _beans. Not sure what we might offer in exchange, but even if we don't trade, it's sometimes nice just to meet folks."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "If you have nothing to offer then you may take your leave." She began to turn on one sandaled foot and John reached out a hand to stop her, recoiling quickly at the death glare she pinned him with.

"Sorry. Sorry. Just. Well, no need to be rude now. I'm sure we can arrange a trade of something. Why so quick to dismiss us?"

She narrowed her painted eyes at him. "I have had men killed for lesser offenses," she hissed.

A shadow moved within the house, behind the woman, and Ronon growled, dropping his hand to his blaster.

Teyla stepped forward and bowed her head deeply. "What the colonel is trying to say, Premika, is that we are honored to have been greeted so warmly in your home. And while we do wish to enter trade negotiations with you, as you can understand, we had a very long journey just to come here. We were not sure if you would even be willing to grace us with the opportunity to trade. We did not wish to come laden down with trade goods if we were unsuccessful in our attempt."

The Premika's eyes remained tight but her posture relaxed slightly. "You are of Athos. We traded with your world many, many moons ago. Last I heard, your planet had fallen to the _Marityu. _To the Lifetakers."

Teyla nodded. "The Wraith came and Colonel Sheppard and his people took us in, found us a new home."

"And you, Dex? Sateda as well. Were you also taken in by the…" She fumbled over the strange title. "Colonel?"

Ronon shrugged his shoulders, his eyes flicking to hers and right back to the form in the background. "You could say that."

She appeared to mull the information over, playing idly with the bangles on one wrist.

"I notice, Colonel, that you neglected to say what planet you and the doctor were from."

"It's pretty small, ma'am. You've probably never heard of it." At the dagger eyes this earned John quickly added, "We don't trade. Often. We are a pretty poor planet. We would not have anything worthy of you. We've managed to find… things… in our travels… that WOULD be worthy of trade. Now." He was sweating bullets, trying to find a way to hide Earth and the Milky Way galaxy AND Atlantis.

"They did not often use their gate, their _gota_, Premika," Teyla once again hastened to add. "These two men are unusual. They are explorers. Brave enough to enter the _gota_ though there are superstitions that forbid it on their planet."

"Brave? You are warriors?" She seemed extremely intrigued by this prospect and the x-ray vision-like scan of John's face and body began anew.

"Well, I'm a warrior. Sorta. Soldier is a better word but, yeah, I guess," John replied. "Doctor McKay is more a man of science. Not so much in the warrior business."

"What? I can… I have… I can… just because I prefer to think my way out of situations instead of SHOOTING does not mean I'm not a warrior!"

Rodney quickly swallowed back any further words as the Premika turned her eyes on him. She swept a look over him, head to feet and back again. Took a step closer, grabbed his face and peered into his eyes. "Your eyes are blue."

"Yes, yes, they are," he mumbled through pinched cheeks and a jaw held fast. Remarkably, he lasted almost five seconds further in her grasp before pulling free. "What's with the touching?"

She turned her head and glared at John. "Your eyes are _not_ blue."

"Nooooo. Sorry?" John said doubtfully.

She flicked back to Rodney, then to John and back again. Wrinkling her nose in apparent disgust she whirled about and headed for the entrance to the house.

"Jahni will take you to see the orchards," she tossed over shoulder before she was swallowed up by the monstrous house.

"Wow. That was… wow." John just shook his head at the woman's odd behavior.

"You know, when she first did the whole face touching thing, I figured, you know. Here we go again. The hot alien babe wants Captain Kirk. But you know what, Sheppard? I don't think she cares for you."

"Yeah, I got that, Rodney."

"I think she might actually like ME, for a change. Hm. Mom always said my eyes were my nicest feature."

* * *

Jahni, the wagon driver, loaded them back up and took them further up into the hills, his son joining them for the ride, sitting up next to his dad on the buckboard. The way was even rougher than the ride from the city, the road being little more than ruts worn into the hard-packed ground.

"This is just…. What are we possibly going to get out of looking at a bunch of trees? There isn't a botanist among us, and I for one couldn't tell the difference between an elm and an oak if my life depended on it."

"You wanted-- the--- coffee, Rodney," John bit out as they jostled over a bump.

"Yes, well, we don't even know this is going to BE coffee, do we? Or even coffee-LIKE."

"Look, Mr. Costa Rican blend, you were the one all gaga for the java. We're almost there. Just settle back and make the best of it. Or I can ask Jahni to put you out and you can walk back."

Teyla and Ronon looked at Rodney like they'd gladly use the room in the bed of the cramped wagon.

Rodney started what looked to be a tirade in the making when they hit another bump and his jaws clacked together. All he muttered was an, "Ow," and settled sullenly back down into the corner.

A mercifully short time later Jahni pulled the wagon to a stop. "We are here, friends," He announced cheerily. Amol jumped off the seat, landing in that sloppy, rubbery-legged manner little kids had, then scampered off, disappearing into the trees surrounding them.

The word the Premika had used was orchard but that was a rather generous description. It looked pretty much like the dense jungle they'd been traveling through since they'd entered the hills. Until you noticed the clusters of squat banyan-like trees almost hidden by their taller cousins.

John eased himself down off the back of the wagon, wincing and rubbing at the same spot on his hip he'd bruised the first trip. Ronon hopped down gracefully as if disembarking from first class, took in a wide scan of their perimeter, then turned to lean his back against the wagon, hand on his blaster as he kept a watch on the jungle surrounding them.

John lifted a hand that Teyla took with a grateful smile and helped her jump down from the back. Rodney stuck out his hand for the same help and John rolled his eyes at him but wrapped a hand around his friend's forearm and steadied him as he half fell, half sagged out of the back.

"Why do we never find worlds with like, hovercraft or luxury automobiles?"

John cocked his head. Tossed a glance at the waiting native and lowered his voice. "The Wraith, Rodney. When a world gets culled every --"

"--Yes, yes. Rhetorical question. Thanks for the history lesson in something I'm already aware of." He brushed his hands down his uniform slacks, wrinkling a nose at the dust kicked up. Turned to the wagon driver and pasted on a so fake why did he even bother smile. "So. Coffee. Lead on Juan Valdez."

"My name is Jahni, _shri," _the amiable driver replied.

"Yes. Quite. The beans?"

"Right above you, _shri_. All around us. They are not quite ready for harvest yet, but you can tell by their _chala_… their skins, that they are very near the picking time."

"They are a lovely shade right now, Jahni," Teyla said, staring up at a hanging group of lime green beans. John gave her a puzzled look and her shrug quite clearly said she was trying.

"Oh, yes, _shrimati," _Jahni agreed earnestly, moving up to her side. He reached up and pulled free a small cluster of the marble-sized beans. "They are turning yellow, as you can see here. When they are the gold of the noontime sun, they are ready to pick."

"What would you call that, Rodney? Is that celadon?" John asked, gesturing with a smirk at the seeds.

"I think it's more of a chartr- what am I? A Gap catalog? They're coffee beans. Or at least that's what I've been promised. And they aren't even ready. What exactly was the purpose of this trip again?"

John's patient retort was interrupted by a high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream from off in the trees. Seconds later was a deep growl that had Ronon whirling about and John pulling his 9mm free from its holster.

"_Bagha! Bagha!" _Jahni went racing off towards the sound of a second wail from his son. The little boy burst out into the roadway from the line of trees, whipping his head around, looking desperately for his dad. His short little legs pumped as hard as they could and he cut a sharp turn, headed for his father's arms.

But it was too late.

From the trees behind the boy came a monstrous beast. Like a tiger with a narrower head and leaner body, the cat was a mottled dark green and black, blending in perfectly with the dense jungle it hunted in. It was easily ten feet long, pure muscle packed under its fur. There was another coughing roar and yellow eyes flashed as it caught sight of its young prey.

There was a whine and a flash of red light as Ronon unleashed his blaster, twice in rapid succession, but the cat had already sprung on its massive haunches and the beam struck a tree, sending sparks and smoke into the air.

Amol was mere feet from his father when the beast landed on him, wrapping massive paws around the boy's form and bearing him to the ground.

"Amol!" Jahni cried out despairingly. He made a desperate, brave but ultimately foolish attempt to pull the boy free. The cat reached out a single paw and batted the man away like a piñata. Jahni was knocked away several feet and did not get up.

John was the next closest. There was no time to try his 9mm, and there was too much risk of hitting the boy, so he shoved it back into place on his hip and did the only thing left to him. He pulled his Gerber from its sheath on his leg and launched himself onto the _Bagha_.

The cat snarled and bucked, and John caught a split-second glimpse of the boy. He'd curled up like a pillbug, knees to his chest, hands knitted over his head. Still alive.

His attention was soon taken by staying alive himself. He buried one hand into the greasy thick fur at the back of the cat's neck, closing his fist as tightly as he could around the skin that bunched there. He drew back the Gerber and was about to sink it into the beast's back when it decided that John would make a better, bigger meal, and rose up from off the boy. It stood on its hind legs, waving its front paws in the air, carrying John with it like a bucking bronco.

John had to let go of the Gerber. He watched it fall to the thick grass below as he frantically grappled for another fistful of fur to hang on to.

The cat dropped heavily back down to all fours and John _oof_ed as he was jarred loose. Fur made for a slippery mount and he felt himself sliding off. He landed on his right side, his 9mm pinned between him and the ground. And the beast was upon him.

Fetid, rancid breath filled his nose and the _Bagha_ let loose a coughing growl that made his eardrums thrum.

He quickly folded in as tightly as he could, his knees and arms protecting his neck and belly. As darkness descended he caught sight of Rodney scooping the boy up into his arms, his pale face drawn in horror as they briefly met eyes.

The cat's fangs attacked his shoulders, trying to get at his neck and head. John screamed, yelled, swore with the fervor of Sam Kinison. He jabbed an elbow into the cat's belly but the creature only sunk its teeth in further. He thought the pain was the worst he'd ever felt. Until the cat took its back paws and dug them into his back.

He'd seen cats at play. Jenny Stakowski, his pink-sweatered love, had a cat. When it had attacked the little knit ball thrown for it the cat immediately tried to disembowel the toy with its back claws.

This cat wasn't playing. And John was not a little knit toy.

His tac vest offered little protection against the razor sharp claws. By the second or third go the vest failed and a dozen stripes opened in his back simultaneously. His instinct was to immediately protect his back against the continued onslaught but he couldn't afford to expose his stomach and head so he curled tighter.

Desperation lent him strength and he coiled like a spring, digging his heels into the ground. Making a Hail Mary attempt to free himself, he squirted out from under the cat's bulk. The element of surprise gained him momentary freedom and he scrambled to put more distance between him and the _Bagha_.

"Sheppard!" John looked up to see Ronon with his blaster in one hand, the obsidian knife he'd purchased in the market in the other. John nodded, hoping Ronon would let loose a fiery rain of red on the cat's ass. But the Satedan pulled back the arm holding the knife and lobbed it in John's direction. It landed hilt up, point buried in the soft ground mere inches from John's hand. He grabbed it up and readied it just as the cat sunk its teeth in the back of his thigh.

Screaming in agony and anger, John twisted free and the cat tried to clamp onto his arm. He felt a tooth catch on his flesh, opening a foot long strip down his arm but he clambered to his knees and sprang. The first thrust of the knife sliced a gaping wound into the cat's head but the blade bounced off the massive bony skull. The second sunk into one yellow eye.

The _Bagha_ shrieked, pawed at the raw, bloody hole where its eye had been. Three strikes and it was out. John buried the knife to the hilt in the beast's ear. It barely had time to howl before tipping over and landing with a bone-shaking thud to the ground, dead.

John crabbed back a few feet, gasping for air, staring wide-eyed at the cat as if it might spring to life.

Teyla rushed over and dropped to the ground next to him. She laid a tentative hand on his arm, but she had to search first for an unbloodied spot. "John?" Her voice was soft and as tentative as her touch.

"'s everyone okay? The boy?" he asked, his chest still heaving as he stared at the _Bagha_.

"The boy is not badly injured," she replied in a soothing voice. "He is with his father."

John looked over to see that Jahni had come to and was cradling his son in his arms.

"Jahni will be okay as well, John," Teyla added when she saw the object of his concern. She dug into the pockets in her uniform, pulling out rolled up field bandages and unfurling them with brisk flicks of her hand. She began wrapping the long wound on his arm as Ronon came over and dropped into a squat next to them.

"That was pretty impressive, Sheppard," Ronon said with a grin.

"Why… why…" John shook his head a little to clear it and hissed as it pulled at the wound in his shoulder. "Why the hell didn't you shoot the damn thing?"

"I was afraid of hitting you. And if I'd had it on stun, it would've come crashing down on top of you. Thing has to go 900 pounds if not more."

Rodney fell to his knees next to the group. "That's 409.1 kilograms," he said stonily.

"Thanks, Rodney. American, remember? But thanks," John replied with a shaky but game smile that mutated into a grimace as Teyla finished the knot on the arm bandage.

"We must get you back to the house," Teyla said as she prodded at his leg. He looked at her and furrowed his brow in confusion. "Your leg, John," she said, gesturing with her head. He looked down and saw his BDUs soaked through at the thigh. "Oh," he said stupidly, lifting the leaden limb from the ground high enough for her to scoot a length of bandage around it several times.

He realized the adrenaline high that had been the only reason he was upright had started to wear off when he began to slump sideways, too tired to even try catching himself.

"Whoa, hey now," Rodney muttered as he braced John's uninjured shoulder with his hands. "Teyla's right. That thing's buddies might be out there still. We need to get back to the house. No. Scratch that. Sorry, bad pun. We need to get back to Atlantis. Carson's gonna need all the thread in his sewing basket for this. This is… this is just…"

"Rodney," John grunted, "just…" His eyes fluttered, then slammed open as he gasped. Teyla had lifted the vest to see how bad the damage was on his back.

John caught the look Teyla exchanged with Ronon. "Yeah, I can tell it's bad, guys. I'd like nothing better than some of Carson's good stuff right now, but Rodney's right. No telling if that thing had a mate or hunting party. Just… help me up," he sighed, looking at Ronon.

The Satedan grabbed John by the elbows and pulled up as John dug his heels into the ground and rose. The movement set off each individual wound and John was unable to stopper the groaned curse that left his mouth. He swayed and his knees buckled and he felt himself falling as Ronon lifted him at the waist in a fireman's carry and brought him over to the wagon. The creatures pulling the wagon had spooked at the cat's attack and had taken off in a panic, getting themselves caught up in some trees off the road.

Jahni had been standing to the side, his still softly sobbing boy in his arms, watching. He quickly scrambled up into the driver's seat, placing the boy down next to him. Amol's arms remained locked in place as he clung to his father, his head buried in the man's side.

Ronon laid John down on his least injured side and climbed up into the wagon bed next to him. Teyla and Rodney scrambled in as well and Jahni tugged at the _ghodas'_ reins. The animals extricated themselves quickly, setting back out on to the road they knew led to home and feed eagerly.

The ride back down was much more sober than the trip up. The sky was darkening and the monkey squirrels were gone. Instead, overhead flitted batlike creatures with long thin heads and even longer tails and an eerie call, like a crying baby, that set the team's teeth on edge.

John settled into a mostly quiet stupor, his head cushioned in Teyla's lap. When the wagon hit one of the numerous potholes he would groan and bite his lip but not a word of complaint was uttered. And he tried to ignore the worried looks his teammates exchanged over his prone body.

* * *

When they finally arrived back at the house, it was almost dark. Candlelight flickered in several windows and the smell of meat cooking drifted on the evening breeze. Family that had been enjoying the warm afternoon had all gone inside and the house was a darker shadow against a purpling sky.

Amol had stopped crying over the course of their ride and when the wagon pulled to a stop, Jahni gave the boy a quick kiss, then jumped down and ran for the house.

Moments later he came back with a group of servants who helped carry John off the back of the wagon. He groaned and roused, but didn't protest as they linked arms and settled him into the support they made. He was taken into the house and down a maze of corridors; he lost track of the turns they made until they arrived at a large bedroom. The Premika was there, conferring with a small, bald man in saffron robes covered by a short white jacket. At the servant's arrival with John the man walked over to the side of the bed and gestured for them to sit him down.

Practically chewing through his lip to keep from shouting out, John allowed them to remove his tac vest and shirt. At first they tried pulling the clothing off normally, but John's strangled cries were enough to have them slicing off the fabric with a knife.

A woman brought a tray over to the bald man, and he lifted a primitive syringe from off of it. A needle that looked better suited for knitting protruded from the end and dripped a milky substance.

"This is for to treat your pain, _shri_," the bald man said. His eyes were placid behind small gold-rimmed spectacles.

John flinched back, eyeing the syringe with horror. "Yeah, I'll p-pass," he stuttered.

"As you wish," the doctor said calmly, placing the syringe back on the tray. He next picked up a curved needle and a loosely rolled ball of dark thread. "_Dhaga_," the doctor said, gesturing at the ball.

John looked more closely at it through bleary eyes. It was faintly oily and did not appear to be made of cotton or any other recognizable fiber. "Wha's that?" he slurred.

"Is made from finest _antadi_. From _ghoda_." John continued to stare uncomprehendingly at him. "From here," the doctor said, pointing at his stomach.

"It's catgut, Sheppard," he heard Rodney say. He looked up to see his team had arrived without him noticing and they were now gathered around the bed. "Only it's not really catgut. Back home they get it from sheep and horses. This is apparently from those horse-looking things out there."

"Horse gut?" John replied dazedly.

Rodney sighed. "Look, I have more disdain for medical voodoo than you do, but please." His voice cracked a little and became desperate sounding. "Just let them sew you up, okay? Please?"

John nodded tiredly and the doctor quickly threaded the curved needle with a long length of the catgut. After a quick inspection the doctor evidently decided that the shoulder was the worst of the wounds. The woman with him wiped the area down with a cloth pad soaked in something that burned horribly and smelled foul.

When it came the insertion of the needle was only a ping against the din of pain in his shoulder. But when the doctor drew the thread taut, pulling the raw, ragged edges of the wound together, John was barely able to muffle his scream. His clamped shut lips finally parted and let out a harsh, coughing sob.

"Take the shot, Sheppard," Ronon said from somewhere close. John's eyes were squinched shut as he tried to breathe through the lingering agony. He was tired. And tired of hurting. He nodded, eyes closed, not trusting himself to speak.

The injection really did hurt like a mother but the edges of his vision softened and all the voices and sounds blended into an incomprehensible murmur. He felt himself being pushed onto his stomach which he usually hated for how defenseless it left him but the medication made his limbs jellylike and after a few pathetic attempts to push himself up he allowed his head to bury in the pillow and the darkness to overtake him.


	2. Chapter 2

John awoke with two realizations. The first was that whatever passed for pain meds on this planet left a hell of a lot to be desired. The second was that he was really fricking sick of waking up in alien beds without his clothes on.

Realization number three hit him moments later. He had no idea where the bathroom was and if he didn't pee soon the pretty white silk sheet he was wrapped in would be a nasty shade of yellow.

He opened filmy eyes to look around the dark room. He was alone and the only light apparent was a dim rectangle on the far wall. His recollection of the room's layout was foggy but he was reasonably sure it was a doorway.

Sitting up was agonizing. His back and arm felt like molten lava had been poured over them, tracing down in fine rivulets, each wound a line of fire. Bruises and deep muscle aches now coming to life dragged his body into a weighted down hunch and he had to pull in several slow breaths against the overpowering weakness. Blood loss had lowered his pressure and he reeled with dizziness. But the call of nature wasn't to be ignored.

He rose stiffly, pushing back the comforter and tugging the sheet free from the bed, wrapping it around his body into a sloppy toga. With his first step he remembered the bite in his thigh and he hissed as he tried to put weight on it. Using the bed as support he limped towards the doorway. A few halting steps later he was lurching toward the rectangle, expecting the firmness of a wooden door to catch him. Instead his hands brushed velvety fabric and he fell through, stumbling into the hallway and barely catching himself on the opposite wall.

He leaned there, gasping as the little burst of adrenaline made his wounds throb in time with his accelerated heartbeat.

The hallway was long with curtained off doorways every few feet. At the end was a staircase and the source of the dim light, filtering up from downstairs. He heard no voices, no sounds at all. The quiet was… disquieting. Where was his team? And more importantly at that moment, where the frick was the bathroom? None of the curtains had little stick figure people on them, none announced Dudes or Dames. He debated left or right, and chose left only because it brought him closer to the top of the staircase. If he became truly desperate he figured he could bite the bullet and call down for help.

He pushed aside the curtain and peered in. The room was dark and no sound came from within. He listened for snoring for a heartbeat longer then pushed past the curtain and took a step into the room.

Myriad tiny gold lights sprang to life, glowing like fireflies against the dark and the sound of softly tinkling bells filled the room. There was a small, plain white stone fountain in the center and water began to trickle from the top to collect in the basin below it.

The stone floor glowed with its own faint light, giving the little room a sense of warmth and peace. A small tug in John's head had him automatically thinking the lights brighter as he would at home and the fireflies became Christmas lights.

"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch," he muttered.

The weakness in his legs and the urgency of his bladder made him realize that he'd have plenty of time to ask about the Ancient tech in the room the next morning. He thought the lights back down and pulled the curtain aside to leave.

The sight of a ghostly figure in silvery blue, flickering candlestick in hand, had him muttering a curse in shock and he grabbed for the door jamb with one hand, the other grabbing up the material of the sheet more securely.

"Colonel…"

It was the Premika. Her hair had been taken down and crashed in dark waves down to her knees. She pushed the candle closer towards his face. "What are you doing out of bed, Colonel? You should be resting."

John stammered, glad the night was covering up the blush he could feel heating his cheeks. "Uh, call of nature, Premika. Sorry. Thought this was a… place …for that."

Her eyes widened, the whites shining in the candlelight. "You did not -"

"No! No, I did not," he hastened to reassure her. He let the curtain drop and limped out into the hall. "No, it was much too, um nice. I could tell it wasn't meant for THAT."

"Nice?"

"Um… pretty?"

"Pretty??"

Her voice had an odd inflection and John stammered for the right words. "You know, what with the lights and bells 'n' stuff. It was… pretty," he finished lamely.

The Premika stared at him for a moment then pushed the curtain aside and entered the room. It stayed dark and quiet. A faint glint in the basin of the fountain had her bending to lower the candle and better see the source of the reflection. She whipped her head up, eyes fiery with anger at him. "I thought you said you did not --"

"I DIDN'T," John practically yelled. "It's just water!"

She cocked her head and challenged him, hands on her hips as she glared. "Water? I do not believe you. This fountain has been dry for hundreds of generations."

John pursed his lips and considered. His ATA gene wasn't exactly something he advertised, and God knew the trouble it had gotten him into in the past. But he was risking her believing the worst of him and offending this woman was possibly more dangerous.

He took a limping step forward and entered the room next to her. The will o' wisp lights came on, the bells resumed their merry tinkling and the fountain trickled clear water once more.

Her perfectly composed façade faltered; it was momentary and difficult to see in the dim light but John knew to be looking for it.

"What kind of trickery is this?" she hissed.

"No trickery, Premika. I swear." John started to hold up his hands in an open gesture of innocence, then remembered he was clad in nothing but bandages and a sheet and kept the one locked in place, fingers knotted in the slippery silky material. "It's just reacting to my presence." He closed his eyes and reached out with that sense that perked when around Ancient relics. Bumped the lights up into a warm, friendly glow.

"You… you are of the First Ones?"

"It's just a… Hmm. I carry something, in my blood. It's left over from the Ancients- the First Ones, I guess, yeah. A few thousand grandfathers back, there was probably a First One. Probably an Ancient milkman, knowing my less than stellar pedigree, but there it is."

The Premika looked around the room, staring at the lights with a pensive expression. She then bent and ran her hand under the water that burbled out of the fountain, seemingly entranced by the tiny bubbles her fingers churned up.

She muttered something to herself that John couldn't catch but he could see her eyes had closed and she gave it the reverence of a prayer. Then she abruptly stood and smiled at him.

"I am sorry I doubted you, Colonel."

"You know, Colonel is just a title. You can call me John, Premika."

Her smile grew warmer and she appeared to consider for a moment. "Premika is a title as well…. John. My name is Mrinalani."

"That's a very pretty name, Mrinalani."

The ice princess thawed before his eyes and she actually appeared to be blushing, her tawny skin turning coppery in the low light. "It means stem of the Lotus. It is actually a very plain name. I must be sturdy to bear the beauty of this family, this home. My people have worked these mountains since the First Ones ruled. It is my job to keep them all safe, to keep the _kahava_ harvests bountiful."

John found himself admiring this young woman, her responsibilities not that much different from his own.

She straightened and cleared her throat. "You really should not be out of bed. I will send my physician up to tend to you."

John nodded, feeling his knees wobbling under him and the aches and pains reminding him how long he'd been standing. "I don't suppose you have any clothes for me?" he asked, dipping his head with an embarrassed smile.

"Your attire was too badly damaged to save. The physician and servants had to cut it from your body to tend to your wounds."

"You weren't there the whole time, for… that? Were you?"

She opened her mouth to answer and John cut her off. "On second thought? I don't really wanna know."

The Premika nodded but John would swear there was a hint of a smirk. "As you wish. I will have them bring you a _dhoti _for the morning. Although, you seem to have managed well," she added, and yeah, there was definitely a curl to her lips. "You wear it like a native," she said, nodding at the sheet that John had wrapped around him.

Now it was John's turn to blush as he gathered the fabric up more securely. He took a limping step towards the doorway and pushed through the curtain into the hallway.

He held the velvet drape to the side, waiting for her to join him, and he looked back. She stood in the now once again dark and silent room.

"You coming?"

She hesitated, then joined him in the hall outside his room.

John cast his eyes down the length of the darkened hallway. "Where's my team?"

"They are sleeping. I have given them accommodations in the guest area at the other end of the house. We put you in the wing reserved for family so that you would be close to my physician."

"Are they… I mean…." He paused and considered his words. "Are they being adequately gracious for your hospitality?" He really wanted to know if they were okay. It was weird, not having them around. It felt…off.

The Premika smiled slowly. "They are fine, I assure you. We had a large meal and I believe they also partook of our local ale. They retired to bed soon after. I'm sure the day's adventures were especially burdensome. As they were for you. You really should get back into bed."

The blush renewed as he winced, practically dancing on one leg. "Um, I never did find the, um… facilities."

"I will have a servant bring you a chamber pot."

"No, really, that's not necessary," John hastened to reply. "They don't need to--"

"That is what they do," the Premika announced with finality, waving a dismissive hand at him. "My physician will be in shortly."

And with that she turned and glided down the dark hallway towards the stairs. As John let the curtain for his bedroom fall back into place he caught sight of a hulking form in the shadows follow her.

* * *

The servant woman left the room with the towel covered pot and as soon as the curtain closed John quickly undid his makeshift robes and let the silk material fall back into its original form. He slid slowly and painfully back into the bed, drawing the sheet and the rough, heavy comforter back over his legs.

Unable to stretch out on his back he turned on to his side and let his head fall into the pillow. His activities had awakened every slice in his back and the chew marks in his shoulder and thigh and between those and the aches from being batted around like a giant toy mouse, he was in rough shape. No position felt comfortable. His legs moved fretfully under the sheet as he closed his eyes and tried to think pain-free thoughts.

His team's absence made sense. He was being treated well, by a real doctor. His wounds weren't life-threatening- just really damn painful. So why did it feel so wrong to him that they weren't there?

It was most likely the surprise of finding Ancient tech here, which often led to… unexpected and not always pleasant developments. And the odd behavior of their hostess had a few bells ringing as well. Although, maybe she really was just under too much pressure and felt she had to keep up the Ice Queen persona to keep her people safe. John knew a thing or two about keeping up appearances and having lives in hand. Maybe she recognized they shared that and felt she could relax a bit.

John was still mulling that over when the curtain pushed open and the small, saffron-robed doctor entered the room carrying a leather bag and two candles.

Behind him was one of the biggest men John had ever seen, carrying his own matching set of candles. Damn near seven feet tall, built like an NFL linebacker, and clad in a _dhoti_ that covered so little it was more like a loincloth. Long brown hair had been pulled into a long, tightly braided queue that ran down his back.

The giant placed the candles on a table near the bed, and those with the ones the doctor had brought had the room glowing with flickering orange light. His task completed, the hulk stood silently at the end of the bed, heavily veined and muscled arms crossed over a chest like the grille of a pickup truck.

John sat up, hissing as his back pressed against the headboard.

"Hey, doc. New nurse?"

The physician ignored him and nodded at the big man who stepped closer, taking up a great deal of space at the side of John's bed.

"He is here for to assist me," the physician said as he turned back to John. He pulled a syringe like he'd used the last visit out of a leather bag and reached for John's arm. "This is for to make you less in the pain," he said in his odd, halting speech.

"Yeah. Actually, doc, I'm feeling pretty good. Let's skip it this time."

"You need to be less in the pain," the doctor insisted and a surprisingly strong little brown hand wrapped around John's wrist and pulled his arm forward.

"I said I'm GOOD," John said, his hackles raised, wishing like hell he wasn't lying and that he had the ability to leap out of bed and flee immediately. He tried tugging his arm back but the doctor shoved the needle in before he could get free.

"Son of a BITCH!" John yelled, finally yanking himself free. The needle broke off and tore down his skin, opening up another jagged red, bleeding line in his flesh, leaving a piece lodged in his bicep.

The physician glared and shook his head. "It really would have been better for you to have let me make you less in the pain." He sighed but didn't really seem all that disappointed. "We will have to leave you in the pain," and then he mumbled something that sounded like what John had heard the Premika say in the Ancient fountain room.

At a sharp nod from the little man the silent giant reached over and grabbed John's arm, squeezing painfully with what looked like little effort.

"Keep him here. I will be back shortly." The physician pushed up his tiny spectacles in a motion that John saw Zelenka do all the time, then left the room, the curtain swinging in his wake.

John struggled briefly to pull free but the vice around his arm was unyielding and tugging only brought flares of pain from his wounds.

It soon occurred to him that some of the sedative in the needle must have entered his bloodstream as the room around him began to spin and his limbs became even heavier. Unfortunately, it did nothing to dampen the agony that had his back on fire. The drugs thickened his tongue and he felt his eyes falling shut despite his best efforts.

"Hey," he tried, screwing on a drunken smile and squinting up at the giant. "You know, I have a Big Guy. You're even bigger than my Big Guy."

He got no response.

"Wish my Big Guy was here."

No response.

"Cat got your tongue there, Big-ger Guy?" John said sloppily.

The giant bent over John like a willow tree and opened his cavernous maw. A stump of tongue was visible, surrounded by solid gold teeth.

"Jeez!" John said, pulling back at the sight. "It wasn't really a cat was it?" he said, laughing although there was nothing in the least funny about the situation. "I'm not a big fan of cats myself right now." And he started giggling. Damn sedative.

Then the curtain opened and all the giggling stopped.

Hands like baseball mitts latched on to both sides of John's head as the Giant kneeled on the bed next to him, his weight crushing the mattress.

Halfway drugged, already weakened by his wounds and blood loss, John clawed pitifully at the hands, trying to pry them off his face. "What the fuck?!! Get OFF of me!"

Then the giant's fingers began to pull John's eyes open, pinning his lids apart. Even in the dim light of the candles John could see the doctor placing a tray on the bed. From it he picked up one of the archaic hypodermics, but instead of the milky substance of the sedative, a dark colored fluid filled the chamber.

John screamed and kicked his legs, beating and pounding on the arms that held him as tightly and unflinchingly as iron bands.

Cursing, spitting, using every epithet in his sizable repertoire, John fought with every drop of energy left in his poor weakened body. The sheets beneath him felt warm and wet and not even the thought that he'd pissed himself stopped his screams. Then he felt something give in his thigh and his back simultaneously and he realized he was feeling his own blood pooling beneath him as his wounds tore open.

"You really should have let me make you less in the pain," the doctor said as he bent over John with the needle. When the point pierced his cornea, the pain as the scream ripped from John's throat was almost as bad. Almost.

Then the pain grew worse.

The doctor depressed the plunger, injecting the dark fluid into his eye. And John was forced to watch it happen, unable to free himself from the mute giant's grasp.

His eyeball was consumed with fire, salty tears filling his vision and spilling out in a stream down his cheeks. The tears ran down the back of his throat, choking him, changing his screams to garbled, mangled sobs.

And then, through the veil of tears, he saw the doctor put the used syringe down and pick up the next one.


	3. Chapter 3

As the second needle headed for his left eye, John wished he had just taken the shot. He was choking, his throat swollen and raw, drowning in his own tears. A stream of them soaked his face and sputtered and splattered with each exhale. Another river coursed down the back of his throat and made him cough as he aspirated them with each ragged inhale. Not all of the tears were the natural reaction to the eye trauma.

The point pierced his eyeball and John heard a scream that echoed off the walls. But it wasn't him. At least not all him.

His vision blacked out completely as the second needle hit home, but John felt the giant's hands lose their hold on him for a microsecond. He whipped his head to the side, trying to pull free.

The needle was still in his eye.

Pain that felt like his eye had been sliced across the middle with a hot steak knife consumed him. He clamped his teeth down, gritting them until he thought they might crack, every neuron in his brain screaming for him to shut down, check out, fade to black.

He was on the verge of that welcoming chasm, ready to step off, when he heard the only things that could have kept him there.

Rodney's voice shouting, "Sheppard!" and a growled battle cry from Ronon.

The hulking guard dropped John's head, shoving him away to fall to his side. Then the bed sank deeply before rebounding back with a jolting jounce, tossing John about on top of it like driftwood in a storm.

He heard the doctor yelp, then the soft thwack of fist on flesh. He heard a bellowed, guttural moan and then what sounded like a herd of elephants stampeding across the floor. The bed shook with each pound of the giant's feet.

Realizing he was finally free to move, John realized that he couldn't. He was curled up, fingers clawing at the flesh around his eyes, digging into the bone around the sockets, slipping in the tears that still flowed.

Using his feet to push off he slid across the slippery silk sheets, managing to keep the top one haphazardly wrapped around his waist. His hands never left his face as he clunked to the floor, grunting as he slammed his raw and weeping back into the wall.

The sounds of battle continued. The voice of the Premika came ringing through the din, cold and haughty but tinged with fear. "Stop this! You mustn't interfere!!" The last words were tight, higher. Desperate.

John pulled his hands from his eyes with an effort that had him gasping. There was no sight in the left and the right showed everything blurry, refracted as if several feet under clear water and with a halo of rainbows. He could barely make out the forms of the two behemoths, grappling in the candlelight. The flickering orange lit the scene like a strobe, giving the two figures a stilted, old movie appearance.

A man who looked like Rodney, but didn't, sat straddling the saffron-robed physician. The little man's glasses were broken, hanging by one earpiece. Rodney slammed another fist into the bloodied face, then stopped, looked up, met John's eyes. He paused, glanced back at the doctor, back at John, as if weighing his options. At the next look at John the hand descended once more to silence the moaning man.

Rodney sat back, rubbed his fist unconsciously as if hardly noticing the bloodied and swollen knuckles. Then he scrambled to his feet and rushed over to fall to his knees in front of John.

Before he could say a word, John asked, "Where's Teyla?"

"Getting help. I hope," was his reply. Then he shook his head dismissively at himself. "She is. Getting help. We just need to, um…"

They both looked over to see the end of the heavyweight bout. Ronon's skill won out against the giant's bulk. The runner was kneeling beside the guard, hands wrapped around the obsidian knife handle, stretched into the air for the killing blow.

The Premika shrieked, flung herself at Ronon, pulling frantically at his arm locked above his head.

"Ronon!" John yelled, spluttering to clear the tears from his lips.

The Satedan hesitated, looked over at John and glared. Then he reversed the knife in his hands and brought the hilt down with all his might on the thick skull. The mute grunted once then his head fell to the side, eyes closed, blood trickling from a clearly broken nose.

The Premika sobbed, falling to her knees to pick up the massive head and cradle it in her lap. Her fingers brushed softly through the giant's hair, then she looked up, nodded once at John before closing her eyes to weep.

Ronon righted the knife and slid it out of view with a blurred fast motion. Casting a final disgusted look at the Premika still sobbing quietly over her fallen giant, he stood to height and scanned the rest of the room. The very corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile at the sight of the motionless physician on the floor and he nodded his head once, short and tight, at Rodney.

The physicist paled, swallowed, then nodded back but his jangled nerves had his head bobbling like a hen's. "Come on. Frankenstein and Igor might wake up or call reinforcements."

The runner cocked an eyebrow at the reference but understood loud and clear what Rodney meant. He strode over, dropped easily into a squat next to his two friends. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah, it's the seeing thing that's not working so good. What the … what…" He shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut and cringed at the pain. "What did they do?" There was an edge to his voice. Fear. You could retrofit anything to be flown with a damaged leg or arm. But blindness…

He eased his eyes open in time to catch the end of a heavily weighted look passing between the two men. "What?" He raised his hands to his face, fingers climbing reluctantly but desperately towards his eyes. "What did they do?" he asked again. "Tell me!"

"Nothing Beckett can't fix, Sheppard," Rodney said brusquely, wrapping his fingers around one of John's arms. "Don't just sit there- help me help him," he continued, flapping his free hand at Ronon.

Between the two of them they got John to his feet, Rodney huffing and making exasperated, embarrassed noises as he tried to wrap the sheet around John's waist. The muttering stopped abruptly. Held up by each arm, eyes clenched tightly closed, John wavered on his feet. "What?"

"Nothing," Rodney said tightly. Then there was a sound that John recognized as hands being rubbed on fabric. He pried open his slightly better right eye in time to see Rodney wiping a crimson soaked hand on his pants. "Sorry, McKay."

"What …? What are you saying sorry for? God, you're just… can we just go?"

John nodded tiredly and took a step forward, limping heavily as his weight fell on his bad leg.

"Oh, my God. You're like an old couch, falling apart at the seams. Ronon, can't you…"

"No! No, I'm good. Just – just need a little help. And navigation. Guidance systems are off line."

"Yeah, you're good," Rodney scoffed but tightened his grip on John's arm and leaned in to offer his shoulder.

Each man at his side, bodily heaving him from the room, the last thing John heard as the curtain swung shut behind them was the Premika still sobbing.

* * *

The smell was what he picked up on first. The unmistakable, instantly recognizable odor from the team of _ghota_. Then he heard their cantankerous whinnying and the creak of the leather straps holding them.

Without warning he was lifted into the back of the wagon, the smell of _kahava_ and wood filling his nose. Then the _chk chk_ of the driver and the cart took off down the hill.

His presence no longer being needed, he allowed himself to lean against the warm form nearest to him. He felt something drape over his chest and he pulled it up to his chin against the cold, rushing air. The wagon rocked beneath him, lulling him into a fretful sleep.

When next he awoke it was to realize he was no longer lying on rough wooden slats or smelling horsey musk. Beneath him now was the familiar feel of the cool metal floor of a puddle jumper.

And the smell was undeniably Carson. Antibacterial soap and the super-rich hand moisturizer he used since he had to wash his hands with that harsh soap so often. The smell intensified and John felt a thumb on his lid, pulling it up gently.

"Steady, lad. Just a peek…"

The hiss as John sucked in a breath at the stabbing pain was almost loud enough to overwhelm Carson's softly whispered oath. "Bloody hell. What did that monster do?"

"We'll explain later, Carson," came Rodney's voice, bitterly spat out. "Let's just get the hell out of here."

"Aye. I couldn't agree more," Carson replied as he finished with the second eye exam and patted John's shoulder reassuringly. "Hand me my kit, please, Rodney."

John felt something cold being swabbed on his upper arm. He struggled to sit up, his hand batting at the air until he found Carson's wrist and pushed it away. "No… no, wait. Where's Teyla?"

"I am right here, John," came Teyla's calm, soothing voice. He felt a soft, warm hand stroke his cheek, wiping away the tears that still moistened them. "Carson is here; you can rest easy now."

John struggled to sit up, one elbow digging painfully into the metal floor. "How? Is Ronon still here? Why was she crying?" His thoughts were all jumbled, flashes of memory mixing up with the present.

"Yeah, I'm here. Take the damn shot, Sheppard."

John smiled weakly at the small joke and nodded. Allowed Carson to slip the needle into his arm and fell back, expecting his head to clunk on the floor but instead found Teyla's outstretched leg.

"Thanks, Carson," he slurred as he slipped away. "It didn't even hurt this time."

* * *

He woke up to the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, his throat raw. He tried lifting his lids open but something held them shut so he lay for a moment in the darkness, assessing his injuries and his pain. His back ached, but it was removed. Dulled. Ditto for the trench dug in his arm and where the cat had gnawed on his thigh and shoulder. The nausea he recognized from anesthesia roiled his belly and he gulped painfully, frantically as it worsened, seemingly by the second. The pain in his left eye was already throbbing in time with each beat of his quickening heart rate.

He'd been sick the night before Homecoming. Just a 24 hour flu bug but he'd puked for most of the day. He'd blown a capillary in his eye with the constant retching and had declared himself to scary and gross to be seen at the dance. His hayride with the lovely, soft, pink-sweatered Jenny Stakowski had been his last date with her. She'd hooked up with another guy at the dance after he stood her up. Brad. Tad. Chad? The following month his dad got transferred again anyway.

Fuzzy as he was waking up, head full of cotton batting, he knew instinctively that puking would be a Bad Thing. He heard a long, low, keening moan. It wasn't until he connected the sound with the vibration in his sinuses that he realized that he was the one making it.

Next he heard the jangling of a privacy curtain being pulled open on its metal rail and he felt the breeze a body makes rushing into a room.

"Easy…. steady on, lad. Slow breaths, Colonel."

He would have nodded his acknowledgment but he was too busy trying to battle the gorge that rose in his throat. The head of the bed lowered a few degrees, the awareness that he was sitting straight up in bed only just dawning on him.

"Do what you can, lad. Slow and steady. Don't go undoing all the work we just did. Twas masterful work but nothing I'd want to do again anytime soon. My feet are still killing me. They really need to pad the floors in surgery. Six hours on cold, hard tile has my wee piggies begging for my slippers."

John wrapped his fingers in the sheets, concentrating on dragging one painful breath in after the other, grateful for what he recognized as Carson's attempt at calming distraction.

"Good job, lad. There you are. We'll fix you up right as rain in a moment. Let you sleep on through this. Candace? Push another of the Droperidol and another few migs of the Demerol. Thank you, love."

John felt a hand pat his shoulder gently. "Just give the meds a chance to work, son. No worries. Dr. Chen was brilliant. I have no doubt you'll be back to 20-20 in no time."

The Demerol seeped into his system and he felt his breathing slow, the sharp edges of pain dull, and the coil in his belly unclench. The mattress grew softer beneath him until it fell away completely.

* * *

"Don't touch that."

John's hand stilled where his fingers had just brushed the fabric that currently covered his left eye. Stubbornly, he continued to probe, albeit a little more tentatively, working out the borders of the patch and the bandage holding it in place.

"Seriously. Do you know what Carson would do if he saw you?"

"No, Rodney. What would _he_ do?" The doctor emerged from around the curtain with a smile and a tray of medical supplies.

"Hey. If the man wants to stick his dirty fingers in his eye and get it infected, more power to him. Spacial perception- who needs it? Oh, right. _Pilots_."

"I'm not touching it, McKay," John finally managed to cut in. Ten minutes awake and he was already wishing he'd kept the other eye closed.

"No, of course you aren't, Colonel. You've never been known to ignore medical advice and push your boundaries," Carson said not unkindly as he set down the tray. He bustled over and picked up John's wrist, shooting his wristwatch forward. "You're a bit more sprightly than the last time you woke up. Any nausea?"

"Nothing I can't handle," John answered honestly. "In fact, I'm kinda hungry. I haven't eaten since… since. Don't remember when I last ate, actually."

Rodney folded his arms and humped. "Probably the coffee and power bar you call breakfast the day we left for that stupid planet. You weren't treated to the horse meat and starch concoction they served us … with a side of sedatives."

John sat up straighter, wincing as his back rubbed on the pillows piled behind him.

Carson raised an eyebrow and sighed. "Rodney, the man just bloody woke up and you already have his pulse doing a polka."

John pulled his hand free and glared at the two men. "Damn it! Stop keeping me in the dark and tell me what happened!"

"You know, the glare loses something with only one eye, Sheppard," Rodney said smugly. He glanced over John's shoulder. "But Carson's glare works just fine. Fine. If I start back a bit and leave out some of the scary gross parts can I tell him?"

"You're gonna put him in more of a tizzy if you don't, I think," Carson said with a sigh. "You can fill him in. Might be a nice distraction while I change the bandages."

"Oh, goody," John muttered, flashing a tight smile. "Spill it, McKay."

"Wait," Carson broke in as Rodney went to pull over a chair. "I can't put him on his stomach because of the intra-ocular pressure, and he can't sit too far forward either. Help us here, Rodney."

"Help?"

"Yes. Och, ya daft bugger, I just need you to help hold him up."

"But the eye thing really…"

"His back, Rodney."

"Oh. Okay."

Carson pulled the pillows out from behind John as he sat up more. When he started to fall forward, Rodney's hands shot out and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Exactly. Thank you, Rodney," Carson said with an encouraging smile. He untied and peeled open the halves of fabric, exposing John's back covered in heavy, blood-stained gauze.

"Yeah, thanks," John mumbled. "No more stalling. From either of you!"

"Okay. So. You remember the green tiger thing?"

"Vividly."

"Oh. Yeah. Well. The Premika and Dr. Mengele seemed like they were taking pretty good care of you. You got sewn up and tucked in and they said you'd sleep. So we asked for chairs to sit in while we waited.

But, Mengele insisted we leave. Sounded a lot like you do sometimes, Carson. Anyway, they chased us out, cooked this meal for us, served it with some fruity beer, sorta like I imagine a Corona would taste like, although I've never really had the full on Corona experience, of course what with the limes--"

John hissed and fidgeted as a bandage pulled free from one of the longer stitched up tears in his back.

"Sorry, son. Stubborn bugger."

"S'okay, doc," John said tiredly. "Go on, Rodney."

Rodney cleared his throat and smiled tightly. "You sure? I mean, this can wait…"

"It's gonna hurt no matter what, Rodney. Carson's right. You make an okay distraction."

"Okay? Okay. So. Ronon of course didn't eat any of the meal on principle. Teyla nibbled at it for appearances' sake but mostly just moved it around on her plate."

"And you?"

"Well, you wouldn't let me have that pastry in the market--"

John chuckled and nodded. "It's okay, Rodney."

"I was only worried I'd be of no use to anyone if my blood sugar got too low. I… I picked at it. It was way too spicy. Was sort of like a horse meat Vindaloo with way too much curry. Anyway, I couldn't eat it and I couldn't drink the beer. It had something…lemon-esque in it. Turns out it was … serendipitous."

John cocked an eyebrow and shifted again. "Thanks for the review on the meal, Rodney."

"Yes well. This animal comes into the room. Mangy dog, coyote thing, all fleas and fur. The puppy love thing must be truly universal- galactic, even- because Teyla immediately starts cooing at the ugly beast and it walks right up to her and gives her these moony, begging eyes. I mean, cats at least have the decency not to mooch at the table. So Teyla throws a piece of meat out for it. It snaps it up and falls asleep about thirty seconds later-- sorry. Are you - do you want me to stop," he asked as John gasped and pulled back from his hands.

"Yeah, no, that was just --"

"The shoulder's a wee bit infected, lad. Sorry. Needs more irrigation if you can hold out. Let me know if you want me to bump up your pain meds."

"No. I'm good, doc. Continue, Rodney. Please… just cut to the chase already."

"Fine. Guards come in expecting us to be sleeping facedown in our curry. Seem more than a little disappointed when we aren't. Room with locks on the doors. Primitive locks. Ronon's knives. He gives Teyla his blaster in case she runs across the Jolly Green Tiger and sends her to radio for help from the jumper. Conan and I make our own escape. Find you and - what- they were doing … you know the rest. At least, you seemed pretty aware. For the most part."

"Yeah, I know what they were doing, Rodney. I was there and awake the whole time. What I don't know is why and what's going on now. And by the way, isn't Chen the guy with the fungus fetish?"

Carson pulled off his blood-stained gloves with a rubbery snap and toed open a nearby waste container, tossing them in with a grin. "THAT was a spot of excellent luck, Colonel. Turns out, before he became a mycologist he was a veterinary surgeon. Specialized in ophthalmology."

"You let a vet slash mushroom doctor operate on my eye?"

"Not just any vet slash mushroom doctor," Rodney chimed in. "Apparently, he was responsible for saving the eye of one of the giant pandas at the Beijing Zoo. Sing-Sing, I think."

"That's a prison, Rodney."

"Whatever. He operated on some famous horse in the states. Won the Stanley Cup of horseracing or something. The guy retired and with all the money he made switched careers and found a new love for mushrooms. And mildew and mold and other icky stuff that grows in basements and bathrooms."

"Elizabeth hired him based on _both_ his skills, Rodney. But yes. Dr. Chen did save your eye, Colonel. As I said, you should be back to your normal 20-20 in no time."

"That's great, doc. I mean it. Thank Dr. Chen and thank you. But I still don't know what the hell they were doing!"

Carson reached over and put his hand on John's shoulder. "Easy there. You need to keep your blood pressure at a nice even keel. And I need more bandages and saline before I do your leg. Rodney, why don't you show the colonel."

"Yes, Rodney. Why don't you," John said dryly as he eased slowly back against the upraised bed.

"Okay. But bear in mind, Carson said it's definitely temporary."

"What is, Rodney?"

The physicist reached over to the counter and picked up a shaving mirror. He hesitated for a second, then handed it over to John.

His right eye's cornea was a bright, inhuman blue, shot through with reddened capillaries and a pencil eraser sized spot of blood. The other eye was covered in a fabric patch.

John studied himself in the mirror without a word then looked up. "I… I look like a Fremen. Like a demented Fremen."

"A demented Fremen pirate, actually," Rodney said, poking a finger at his own left eye. "And you made a _Dune_ reference. You read _Dune_? No. Wait. Of course. You saw the movie."

"I read the book." He paused, staring once more at his reflection, then looked up and frowned. "And I saw the movie. The one with Sting. But I read it in college. Always thought how cool it was that he could use his name as a killing word. Come on. Imagine it. Sheeeeep_pard! Bam!_ Awesome, right?"

"Hm." Rodney appeared to consider then smiled goofily. "Muuuuuuh_kay!"_

"Rodney works better, I think. Raaaahd_ney! _See? Has more punch." He dropped his gaze back to the mirror and sighed dejectedly. "This is really _not_ permanent?"

"Carson and Chen both say it should absorb into your system in a few weeks. Something about it being a vegetable based dye -- I really wasn't listening by that point."

"But why?"

Rodney hooked the chair leg and pulled it over, dropping heavily into it.

"On our way out, after you - after we - we weren't exactly sure how we were going to get you back down the mountain and back to the jumper. Jahni was outside at his wagon. Came running over to us, babbling about how he tried to stop them, you saved his son, blah blah blah. We got him calmed down enough to get the wagon going. I think he was happy to be able to help. And he told us the craziest damn story. Actually, with you? Maybe not all that crazy."

He took a deep breath. "Seems they have this prophecy. A quote," and here he punctuated with his fingers, "'blue-eyed warrior, descended from the First Ones and bearing the Mark of the Goddess, end quote, was supposed to be the savior of the Svargans. Apparently, you had everything but the blue eyes. So they, um…improvised."

"Savior? Exactly how and from what was I supposed to save them?"

"By mating with the Premika. _Quel surprise_, I know. And not just mating with her, but giving her what I gather to be a dozen sons. These sons would grow up to be great warriors and the defeat the Wraith next time they show. Which is, I guess, why she was so desperate. While Svarga has been happily unvisited for the past hundred years, give or take, according to the almanacs, they're due for a culling in another 20-25 years. Just enough time for the Spawn of Sheppard to save them."

John closed his eye and sighed. "I guess I can't completely blame her."

"What? Are you seriously nuts or is that the morphine talking? They stuck needles in your eyes to make them blue. She would have held you captive there while she birthed a few litters of John Juniors."

John looked up and nodded. "I'm just saying, I understand her desire to save her people. That's all." He picked the mirror back up and turned his head to see the pinky-red splotch near his ear. "Mark of the Goddess, huh? Doesn't look like much."

"It's faded a little. The nurses tried a few different thing to clean it up but… it still looks like you got French-kissed by a clown."

"Och. That's not a kiss," Carson said as he returned, setting down an armful of supplies. "I have a strawberry birthmark that looks exactly like a kiss. My mum called it a stork bite and she used to kiss it every time she changed my nappies," he said with a wide grin. Wanna see it?

"No!" John and Rodney chorused but Carson was already turning around and yanking the top of his uniform pants down to show a half moon of pale white flesh. There, at the top of his cheek, was a birthmark the perfect image of a kiss.

"Oh, God, Carson," Rodney said, quickly averting his eyes. "TMI. And TM_A_ for that matter. What a horrible image."

"Och, Rodney. Nothing wrong with a mum planting a kiss on a bairn's bottom. Just because your mum never showed you any affection."

"I'll have you know that my mum -mother- was very kind and affectionate. In her own, coolly removed and stoic way. Anyway, are we done here?"

"I still need your help Rodney," Carson said, fighting a smirk. "I need to get at the back of his thigh so help me roll him over on his side."

"Oh, come ON. Don't you have nurses to do this kind of thing?"

Carson just tapped his foot and John shifted uneasily in bed.

"Fine. What do I have to do?"

"Good man, Rodney. Now don't let him fall over too far and keep his upper body elevated if you can. And mind the tubing."

"Yes. Please. Mind the tubing," John said, a small amount of panic slipping into his voice.

"Minding the tubing. Keeping him elevated. Got it."

They got John rolled over and Carson pushed the gown away from his thigh.

"Oh, great. First Carson's ass, and now yours. Because the view I got when we lost your sheet halfway to the jumper wasn't enough apparently."

"Shut it, Rodney. Or I'll administer your next series of vaccination boosters in the gate room and have Elizabeth call the whole city in." Carson put on a fresh glove and his fingers broke right through. "Bloody hell! I've told them before to stock the small gloves separately from the large ones! Hang on a tick, lads. I'll be right back."

And he left.

Rodney studied a spot on the far wall and John tried to breathe through the pain and the draft.

"So… that mark on Carson's butt. Looked like a kiss, didn't it?"

"Yeah."

"And he does have the gene. And blue eyes."

"He's not exactly a warrior, McKay."

"I don't know about that. He's seen _Braveheart_ at least a dozen times."

"That's true. I sometimes catch him mouthing the words along with William Wallace when we watch it in the rec room. You don't think…"

"Nah… … … You think?"


End file.
